Zombie Apocalypse
Finishing the last of my charting on eighty-six year old Mrs. Dell, who had been acting stranger than her usual ‘I want to scratch your eyes out‘ self, I glanced at my work phone it read 9:30pm. Home time!! My co-worker was in the kitchen cleaning up the stray cups and such, and washing any counters and tables that did not get done before we started assisting people to bed. She was none to quiet about it. I thought for sure the whole unit was going to wake up. Some, it would be okay if they did but others not so much. There was no telling the level of grumpiness they could have when awoken. I shrugged. That didn’t concern me I was going home.
After putting on my coat and gathering my stuff shoving them into my bag I put it on my shoulder. I said goodbye to my co-worker thanking her for a wonderful shift though in all actuality I was stressed to a volcanic breaking point. Would have to let that go I could not bring it home with me. I reached the locked door that allowed us in and out of the second floor dementia unit and punched in the code. I held the door easing it closed so it would not slam shut, not that it matter I could hear the silverware clanging all the way down here. I did not look back.
The door to the stairs that lead downstairs was very close to my unit’s door. So close, in fact, that if one came up through the stair doors and someone coming out the way I did there was no doubt, no doubt at all, that a nose would be broken and blood would stain the carpet. Who ever built this place was not a genius.
This door was locked as well. It was at this moment when, after I had punched in the code and entered the stairwell, I thought that this would be an incredibly safe place from zombies if a zombie apocalypse were ever to happen. Curse me for watching THE WALKING DEAD.
I stood at the top of the stairs. Yes, this would be an excellent place unless a zombie happened to get trapped in here with me. Then, I remembered my bag. It was weighed down with a few heavy books, a couple of binders, pens, food, candy, and female unmentionables that guys seem to get embarrassed about. You never know when those unmentionables might come in handy. Brilliant, my bag could be used as an assault weapon. It might not knock off many heads, as is the custom of killing a dead person, but it would sure knock them on their rotting butts. My pen would be useful until I could find something better. I did not know how far my pen would lodge through a zombie’s eye socket until it reached its brain then be able to retract it. In a pinch it would have to do.
I descended the stairs very slow. Each step making me think of an escape plan and the possibility of encounters with the walking dead. I imagined that there might be a mass of zombies from the building to my car. I cursed under my breath, just in case someone heard me, i have a reputation to uphold. I cursed the day staff and visitors for taking all the parking spots close to the building. That might be a problem. I would delve on that problem when I reached the doors to the outside.
I was not too worried about the zombies that might be inside. There was not many staff on at this time of evening. Any staff, who had the misfortune of being turned into flesh eaters, would probably be gnawing on a resident in bed. Not on this flesh they wouldn’t. I shivered almost gagging. Gross.
The residents would not be a problem. More than half used wheelchairs and walkers. I could see it now; a moaning zombie, with a walker, if they remembered to use it, racing toward me at the speed of a turtle. I might just stay to see how long it would take to reach me with its dentureless mouth. The ones that could walk without a device probably wouldn’t make it very far due to many surgeries to hips and knees. If they fell you can bet I would not be helping them up or calling a nurse.
By the time I reached the bottom facing the button that said ‘Press to Exit’ I had so much anxiety that I might have to call a nurse, if they have not been turned already, to give me a quetiapine or a trazadone. Those might calm me too much and hinder my ability for self preservation. If I did take them and had to offer myself as sacrifice so others may be saved I would do it. There might be enough of the drugs in my system that could cause the zombies eating my body to become snowed enough not give chase.
Taking a deep breath I pushed the button holding my bag very tight. I did not let the door slam here either. Any form of noise could arouse the brain cravers. I had to be as a ninja; stealthy and unseen.
Panic gripped my stomach like a vice wondering, as I looked to my right at the corner I must go around, what would meet me around the corner. I walked quietly to the corner peered around it first. Nothing. Praise to the Chocolate Makers.
Down the next hallway I had to take was a little dining area with chairs and tables. It seemed unoccupied much to my relief. Still the dread of an encounter filled every nerve, every blood vessel, and heart beat.
The closer I got to this little dining area the more nervous about coming face to face with a flesh decayed zombie grew. I never reached the dining area. It had disappeared replaced by a wall same design as the others. I had no idea what was going on. The only way to go was left. It was better than being jumped by the zombies.
I do not know how much time had passed, how many left and right turns I made, or how many hallways I walked down. My anxiety worse than before. I kept going, holding my bag tight, until I came upon a hallway with a dead end. A slim form rose out of the floor. I cursed for the third time that night. I cursed myself for being so stupid about a non-existent approaching zombie apocalypse when I should have been worried about mind controlling invading aliens.
